Caught In The Slipstream
by Houndeye
Summary: Talon has the resources, the connections and the expertise to plunge the world into a new age of chaos. Now all they need is a fuel source for their army, a mythical element known as Australium that can only be found in one place – the past. A handful of stranded Overwatch agents and a ragtag team of mercenaries are all that stand in their way.
1. Chapter 1

**An Overwatch/Team Fortress 2 crossover**

 **This story is an experiment in writing for both fandoms. I don't have much of a plan beyond the first few chapters or any particular upload schedule, but if people like what I've done then I'll be happy to keep going. Obviously, this story is going to involve a time-travel plotline, and I hope I can do enough to differentiate it from all the other great time-travel plots that apply to this crossover.**

 **Enjoy! Any comments, critiques etc. are welcome, and don't worry** _ **Our Mutual Enemy**_ **fans – a new chapter for that will be coming later this week.**

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"Can you describe to me what happened, sir?"

"They had the ATM chained up to the back of their truck. Looked like they were going to pull it out of the wall. After that…well, I couldn't really say."

The grocery store owner scratched his head as he surveyed the scene outside his shop. A truck, partially wrapped around a lamppost. The shattered remains of an old-style ATM that had been wrenched from the pavement by the truck. Two men, dressed in motorcycle leathers and wearing ski-masks, tied to the post by their wrists with electrical cable. A handful of police were busy securing the scene.

The interviewing officer, a sleek silver and blue Omnic wearing a peaked cap, paused as it wrote notes on a small holographic pad. "You couldn't say, sir?"

"There was this guy – or girl, could have been anyone, I suppose – he jumped up into the truck. Don't know how. Anyway, at the last moment the thing sort of veered off to the right and hit the lamppost. After that…"

 _Damnit! I promised myself I'd stop interfering with things on my morning run._

The figure that had been observing the scene from behind a row of dumpsters crouched down as another police cruiser floated by. A quiet chuckle, a flash of blue light, and they were gone, only to reappear a heartbeat later on the opposite side of the street.

Adjusting her hooded sweatshirt, Lena Oxton checked over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen her, before resuming her jog. The former Overwatch agent was dressed in nondescript running gear, with only a faint blue glow under her sweatshirt to betray her true identity. Once, she would have spent hours on a purpose-built indoor track, with a team of scientists and technicians dedicated to keeping her and her equipment in peak condition. Nowadays, she took every chance she could get to jog, staying in shape and keeping in touch with her home city. Turning onto the home stretch, Lena increased her pace, enjoying the burning sensation in her calf muscles as she sprinted to the finish. On most winter mornings, it would be too risky to sprint on wet cobblestones, but the dry conditions overnight and the lack of traffic this early in the morning gave her an uninterrupted two-hundred metre stretch.

A minute later, Lena bounded into the lift on the ground floor of her apartment complex and started up to the seventh floor. After an hour of running, the former pilot felt pleasantly buzzed, albeit quite hungry. _Time to start eating a proper breakfast before I head out in the morning, not just a cup of tea._

It was easy to find the door to her apartment, even when the lights were off. Unlike the rest of the doorways on the seventh floor, hers was fitted with a chunky retinal scanning system and fingerprint reader. She'd never heard of any apartments in her block being broken into, but her apartment was filled with objects that she simply couldn't afford to lose. Lena pressed her thumb to the door handle and lowered her head to the security unit, allowing it to scan her retinas and match it with one of only three authorised prints. The security system chirped. _"Welcome home, Lena Oxton. Door unlocked."_

Lena's apartment was spacious, complete with a kitchen, common living area, bedroom, study and bathroom. As the front door clicked shut behind her, the automatic blinds began to open, revealing a stunning view out over the misty London skyline. With a soft whirring sound, a robotic arm descended from the ceiling as Lena shrugged off her sweatshirt and began to undo the straps on her chronal accelerator. Most of the time, Lena would be left crippled without the device, but some modifications to the wiring system of the apartment boosted its effective range and allowed her to safely remove it. The arm accepted the accelerator and carried it across the apartment, suspended on a track in the ceiling, to deposit it on a special charging rack in the main living room.

"Emily, love? I'm back." There was no answer. Lena shrugged – Emily had never been a morning person. The bedroom was empty, the sheets on the double bed tossed back, but she could hear the shower running at full blast in the bathroom. _Must be trying to wake herself up…bit of a late night last night._

A simple hand gesture activated the old-fashioned kettle in the kitchen. Despite Emily using the hot drink brewer built in to the stovetop, Lena always preferred the taste of tea she had made herself. The water boiled in seconds, and with her favourite mug – a metal one, stamped with an Overwatch logo – in hand, Lena opened the door to the apartment balcony and stepped out.

The sun had fully risen and the city of London was waking up. Lena leaned over the railing of her balcony, blew gently on her tea, and gazed out across the city skyline. The apartment was the nicest she'd had in a few years. In the early days, after Overwatch was disbanded, Lena had been forced into hiding, changing her name and moving oversees to avoid detection. There were plenty of people who wanted to shelter her, but there seemed to be even more who wanted her dead. Only now had it been safe enough to move back to her home city, and even now it was a risk being out and about during daylight hours. The glowing dial of Big Ben shone out through the low cloud. Lena looked away, trying to put it out of her mind, but memories of that night, three months ago, came flooding back unbidden.

 _Tekhartha Mondatta._ Lena felt a familiar knot in her stomach. The leader of a global peace movement, assassinated at a public rally – and she had been powerless to prevent it. Not every Overwatch mission had been a success, of course. There had been good and bad days, but Lena had always known that there would be another chance to set things right. Overwatch had the resources and manpower to right wrongs almost anywhere in the world. Now, however, she was working virtually alone. No backup, no intel, and no legal immunity if things got damaged. The knowledge that she had been there, that she could have saved Mondatta, and that his killer had escaped, was a real blow to morale.

The muted thunder of water in the shower cubicle was still audible when Lena stepped back into the apartment. By her watch, Lena had been back from the gym for almost a quarter of an hour. Frowning, Lena knocked on the bathroom door.

"Emily? You alright in there? Mind if I come in?"

Lena pushed at the door, and found it unlocked. The lights in the room beyond were dimmed, and Lena brought them up with a hand gesture. As her eyes adjusted, saw something that made her heart skip a beat. There was someone in the shower. A body, partially dressed in a nightshirt, was lying on the floor of the cubicle, pale legs sticking out through the open door. Lena made a choking sound as the heat lamps chased away the shadows and revealed the full scene.

"Emily? Emily!" Lena dashed over to the shower cubicle and knelt down, ignoring the bathroom door as it slammed shut behind her. Turning off the shower, she seized the body by the shoulders and rolled it over, exposing a familiar shock of cherry red hair. Her eyes were closed, and her face unnaturally pale.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lena saw a flash of movement. Acting on instinct, she sprang to her feet, but something struck her in the small of her back, and she stumbled against the bathroom cupboards as she tried to maintain her balance. A figure, dressed in dark clothes, was standing behind the closed bathroom door, supressed pistol in hand. With adrenaline coursing through her system, it took a few seconds for Lena to realise she had been shot. She took a shaky step forward in an effort to shield Emily, but the figure raised the pistol and fired again. Lena tried to scream, but could only manage a hoarse gasp as her breath was driven from her lungs by the impact. As pain flared through her body, her fingers twitched instinctively, attempting to activate the rewind feature on her missing chronal accelerator. Sinking to her knees, Lena stared up as her assailant loomed over her.

"Why…why would-"

The gun coughed again, and Lena crumpled to the floor.

 _"Both targets down. Shall we proceed?"_

 _"Confirmed. Begin phase two of the operation."_


	2. Chapter 2

"Awake at last. Did you have a good sleep?"

Gasping, Lena Oxton opened her eyes, and stared out into the darkness. She couldn't move, she couldn't see, and as her senses returned to her, Lena felt pain shoot up her back as she shifted in her bonds. Her hands were manacled together and held in place above her head by a chain that passed through a hook on the ceiling, and her ankles were fastened to the floor in a similar fashion. Adding to her discomfort, her running gear had been replaced by her old operational uniform, which had clearly been pulled on and done up incorrectly. A brief jolt of panic passed through her as Lena realised she wasn't wearing her chronal accelerator, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she noticed that a metal container strapped to the floor next to her was emitting a faint blue glow. The room was vibrating gently, and through the walls she could hear the faint roar of engines. The former pilot could tell she was in the cargo hold of some kind of aircraft.

Silhouetted against the single lightbulb was a shadowy figure, slowly walking across the room towards her. Although Lena couldn't see their face, there was no mistaking the outline, or the accent.

"…You."

" _Bien._ You gave me quite the challenge the last time I came to visit. It seems I caught you with your guard down this time, no? Your _girlfriend_ was caught equally unaware."

Widowmaker gestured towards an object on the edge of Lena's vision, hanging from ceiling restraints alongside her. It moved, and Lena heard a sudden intake of breath.

"…Lena? Where…"

Lena's heart jumped, and she struggled to shift into a position where she could see to her left side. The glow of the lightbulb revealed Emily, bedraggled but alive, restrained in a similar manner. Somehow, she had been dressed in her own clothes, a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that had to have been taken from the apartment.

"Emily! It's me, I'm right here. Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. Really." Emily looked around, taking in the dimly lit cargo hold. "Where are we?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're alive, and will remain alive for as long as you continue to do as I say." Widowmaker pulled a silenced pistol from behind her back, slipping the magazine out and inspecting it. "Stunner shells. You would have used them yourself, no? Your girlfriend was out before she hit the floor."

Lena winced as a fresh wave of pain flowed through the bruises on her back. Seeing this, the assassin put a hand to her mouth in mock concern. " _Mon dieu,_ I forgot they had a minimum safe distance. I hope they didn't hurt _too_ much."

"Tosser."

The ship jolted suddenly, causing the light in the hold to flicker and die for a few seconds. When it returned, Widowmaker was standing very close to Emily. The latter recoiled, shying away as if expecting the assassin to strike her, but Widowmaker only chuckled. The ship rocked again, and she hooked her wrist-mounted grappling hook into the ceiling for balance.

"We will be landing shortly. We've made good time, only seven hours from London to New Mexico."

 _New Mexico?_ Lena's thoughts were drowned out by the thunder of the engines as the ship suddenly slowed for landing, and the struts extended from somewhere beneath her feet.

The rear ramp of the ship slowly wound down, opening out onto total darkness. Widowmaker stepped back as three masked men in red uniforms entered and began to unbolt Lena and Emily's restraints from the floor. As they did, the door at the far end of the hold opened, and heavy footsteps approached from outside. She hardly needed to turn her head to see who they belonged to, as a distinctive voice echoed through the enclosed space.

"Widowmaker. Get down to the launch site and tell them we've got company."

The assassin nodded, scooped up her rifle, and stepped out into the night, disappearing into the darkness with a small smirk still playing on her lips.

Lena watched as a familiar figure stalked towards her from out of the gloom. Tall, broad shouldered, and clothed from head to toe in black, save for his bone-white mask. When he spoke, it was in a hoarse growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Lena Oxton. Welcome to New Mexico."

Lena put on her best defiant sneer. "You _wanker._ I guess seeing Overwatch wiped out isn't enough for you. Tell you what, if it's a fight you're after, let me out of these chains and I'll give it to you!"

 _"Enough."_

Without warning, a gloved hand shot out and wrapped around Lena's throat. Black mist coiled from the sockets of Reaper's mask, and the patches of Lena's skin caught under his glove suddenly felt painfully cold. The restraints jangled as she struggled to pull away from his grip.

"It would be this easy, _Tracer._ " The mask was right next to her ear, and his voice had dropped to a sinister hum. "It _will_ be this easy, when the time comes. Right now, however…I need you alive."

Lena gasped as she felt a strange crawling sensation across her body. Looking down, she saw that a cloud of black mist was slowly closing around her midriff. As it passed across her injured back, however, the pain began to ebb, and in seconds the bruising had turned completely numb. The tendrils of mist retreated, and Reaper pulled his hand away. The Talon operatives removed the last of the restraints, and Lena and Emily dropped to the floor. One man seized each prisoner and dragged them from the ship, with the third following after them holding the chronal accelerator.

With Reaper leading the way, the group marched out of the pool of light cast by the ship's landing lights, and out into the night. The ship, an angular red craft that Lena recognised from that night in London, had landed on the top of a low mesa, accessible from the desert below by a narrow track made of crumbling asphalt. After a few minutes spent stumbling through the sand, the rock formations up ahead began to glow, as if artificially lit. Soon, a large flat area came into view, surrounded by banks of floodlights.

Jutting out from the sand ahead of them was a tall concrete pillar, then another, and soon the group was picking their way through a maze of broken building supports. To Lena, it was as if they were walking through the empty shell of a destroyed city. Here and there, tents and supply crates marked with the Talon insignia were visible, guarded by yet more masked operatives. Then the terrain dipped sharply, and they began to make their way down a path into a large pit.

At the centre of the pit, perched atop a massive network of steel scaffolding, was a curious looking pod, white and bulging all over with complex machinery. Wires and hoses dangled from every inch of the object, connected to banks of machinery mounted at various points around the rim of the crater. People scurried back and forth around it, manipulating equipment and attaching wires, and on the path up ahead Lena could see a lone figure shouting orders at the workers. As the group got closer, she heard a voice ringing out over the desert wind.

" _Darse prisa!_ Don't leave it unplugged, the energy cells need constant cooling!"

The speaker was a young woman, dressed in a form-fitting purple body glove that left no skin showing below the neck, and a heavy black coat over the top. Her head was partially shaved, revealing a grid of what appeared to be cybernetic implants across her scalp. Everything, from the trim of her jacket to the wiring on the back of her gloves, seemed to pulse with purple light, as if it was blood flowing through artificial veins. Hearing their approach, she turned away from the Talon operatives she had been directing, and stared Reaper down with an exasperated glare.

"You're late _._ We've been in position for hours now."

"Sombra, report."

Sombra folded her arms and sighed. "Like I said, we're as ready as we can be until we get those extra parts. Once we have them, and the pod is fuelled up, we can get moving as soon as you like." She looked up, noticing the chronal accelerator slung over the shoulder of one of the Talon operatives. "Is that…"

"…the chronal accelerator, yes. Fully intact. Will that be all you need?"

Sombra looked past Lena and caught sight of Emily. "Who's this? You never said anything about civilians."

Reaper did not hesitate. "She's our security policy. Your fee has been _considerably_ increased."

Sombra paused, her eyes shifting from the two prisoners to the machine in the centre of the pit.

"Well? Will it still work?"

"I'm not an _expert_ in this stuff, I just followed the plans I was given. As far as I know, even _they_ never got it working properly. I need to prep the new equipment first."

"I will not tolerate another failed mission, Sombra. Not after Volskaya." Reaper turned sharply on his heel and strode away. Sombra muttered something under her breath, her eyes briefly meeting Lena's, before she too walked away in the direction of a large tent at the edge of the site, leaving Lena and Emily with Widowmaker and the three Talon operatives.

"You. Take our guest to the central barracks and lock her up. I'll take our _new pilot_ from here."


	3. Chapter 3

Winston remembered Watchpoint Gibraltar in its heyday. A thriving facility, dedicated both to peacekeeping and scientific endeavour, the seaside Watchpoint had once been the workplace and home of hundreds. Now, there were only three. Four, if you counted Athena. The two new arrivals were seated on the opposite side of the gigantic meeting table in the underground levels beneath Watchpoint Gibraltar. Winston normally never ventured far from the labs and his private quarters, cut into the cliffs at the other end of the base, but it seemed fitting that the biggest meeting hall be used for this particular crisis. After all, it wasn't every day that the former commander-in-chief of Overwatch and his right-hand woman came to visit.

It had only been three days since Athena detected two intruders on the boundaries of the empty base, and Winston had gone to investigate. The two old soldiers recognised Winston immediately, but it took the scientist a little while longer to come to terms with the knowledge that Ana and Jack were still alive after so many years of hearing nothing. Dirty, dusty and carrying nothing other than their weapons and the clothes on their backs, the two founding members of Overwatch had established a makeshift campsite in the basement of their abandoned facility.

That had been yesterday. During that night, Athena had warned Winston of unusual activity in Britain, and within hours police bands throughout London were repeating the same news – Lena Oxton, former Overwatch agent, had seemingly been kidnapped from her home. Fuelled by several dozen jars of his favourite sandwich spread, Winston had stayed up through the night as he tracked Lena and her chronal accelerator as they headed West towards America.

Ana Amari was seated to his right, sipping tea from a cup and saucer she had salvaged from the old cafeteria. The hood on her armoured coat was pulled back, revealing her silver hair and the blue eyepatch that covered the scars she had sustained during events that had supposedly claimed her life all those years ago. Jack Morrison had his feet propped up on the meeting table to his left, with a large assortment of weapons spread out in a loose semicircle around him. As if he had some sort of nervous tic, Jack was constantly disassembling and reassembling his equipment, so much so that the area underneath his chair gave off a faint blue glow from the pulse rifle batteries that were stacked up there. The former commander seemed in perfect physical health, thanks to the powerful genetic modification he had undergone decades ago, but his hair had turned grey and the once handsome face had become crisscrossed with scars and wrinkles.

"Fortunately, both Lena and her chronal accelerator have tracking devices implanted in them. If she were to suffer a relapse of her syndrome, the two would appear separately…but this is different."

Ana set her teacup down. "Tracking devices? Did anyone else…receive these?"

"Well…it wasn't my idea, you understand. Ziegler thought it might simplify some missions."

Jack managed a rare smile. "I don't recall filling out one of her consent forms. Would that have complicated things further?"

Their laughter created an eerie echo in the cavernous meeting hall.

Winston called up a three-dimensional projection of Lena's apartment. Details of interest were highlighted in red, and potential entrances and exits glowed white. The standard layout of the apartment was overlaid with pieces of evidence that had been discovered by police.

Jack leaned in. "Tell me what I'm looking at."

"Not a lot, I'm afraid. Whoever hit the apartment did it professionally. It took a few hours before forensics bots were able to find anything, and even then, it was only a few out of place strands of hair and pieces of skin."

Ana raised her eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Aha, it seems as though the City of London has not upgraded their hardware much since the Overwatch days. I had the remote access codes for those bots here at the facility." Winston pulled out to display an image of the interior of the apartment. "Anyway, the most important piece of evidence is right here. This broken wiring here…and this metal piece here…they were parts I helped to install. Both interface directly with her chronal accelerator. Whoever broke in must have known about the device, and maybe…maybe that was what they were after in the first place."

Jack stroked his chin. "What use would the chronal accelerator be on its own? Even if you had it, I thought only Lena knew how to use it."

"Think like _he_ does, Jack." Ana gave Jack a cryptic look. "Why else would you kidnap the girlfriend?"

Jack paused. "Girlfriend. Right. She could be used as leverage."

Winston stayed quiet. From spending time with the pair of the last few days, he had come to learn that references to "him" or "he" most likely meant the mysterious Reaper, the same Talon agent who had attacked the Watchpoint several months ago.

"Winston. You said something about Talon…about what _he_ was trying to steal."

"Yes. The agent database is still stored here at Gibraltar. It does include location information, and if Talon got their hands on it, then they would be able to track Lena down. Athena, can you confirm that the hacking device Talon brought with them did not succeed in extracting the agent database?"

A female voice echoed out from a speaker mounted on the ceiling of the meeting room. _"Indeed, it did not. However, I suspect that the attack made it possible for other parties to breach the security protocols around the database."_

"W-what? Athena, why didn't you tell me?"

" _I apologise, Winston. At the time, I did not consider such information to be relevant. However, despite my best efforts to rebuild the security system, there was a period of heightened vulnerability to hacking attempts in the hours following the security breach. In light of this current discussion, I have blocked all database access for the foreseeable future."_

Jack nodded. "It makes sense. _He_ must have put a virus into the system so that if he didn't manage to get out with the files, then whatever cyber-criminals Talon has on its payroll could come back and get them later."

"Then why didn't they act sooner? Talon could have attacked Lena at any time, but instead they've waited months before making their move."

There was a long pause, broken only by the rattle of Ana's teacup, and the metallic clatter of parts as Jack reassembled his pulse rifle.

"We won't know until we get there. Athena has a ship on standby to take us to New Mexico."

Jack frowned. "We won't get there fast enough. You saw on the map how quickly they moved her from London. If they detect us, they'll take her somewhere we can't follow."

"Why not land nearby, then trek in on foot?" Ana ventured. "Travelling light, we could manage a fair pace."

"Hmm. Our maps of the area are a decade out of date. Without any contacts on the ground, we won't know the fastest way through, or what we might be up against."

Ana looked from Winston to Jack, and then down at her cup and saucer, a questioning expression on her face. "That's…not entirely true, is it, Jack? There _is_ someone quite close by."

The former Commander swiftly cut her off. "No. Not him. We can't rely on some vigilante to help us."

"I'd hardly describe him as just a vigilante. His experience fighting Talon suggests otherwise."

Ana looked over at Winston, and the scientist nodded. "We all have something in common. All of us trusted Lena, and she felt…no, _feels_ the same way about us." A pulsing blue dot had appeared near to Lena's location on the map of New Mexico, and as Winston spoke an Overwatch identification code flashed above it. "Even he would feel the same way."

" _Attention, agents. Telemetry indicates that Lena Oxton is now interfacing with the chronal accelerator. Standby for further intelligence."_


	4. Chapter 4

"I hope you're not drifting off back there, _Tracer._ We've still got a lot of work to get through tonight. I know you must be tired…but would you mind staying awake just a bit longer?"

"…Go to hell."

"Ha! _Cheers, love!_ "

Lena gritted her teeth as her captor returned to the workbench nearby. Strapped into a heavy restraining frame by her wrists and ankles, she had been placed inside a spacious, dimly lit tent near to the edge of the pit. Widowmaker had been called away with the guards, Reaper had characteristically disappeared, and she had last seen Emily being dragged away in the direction of a building on the far side of the camp. They'd only had time to exchange a brief glance, but despite the fear that Lena had seen in her eyes, she had also caught a flash of quiet determination. Closing her eyes, Lena whispered another vague prayer, hoping that she was still alive and unharmed, wherever she was.

The woman that Reaper had called _Sombra_ was the only other person in the tent. She flitted around in the shadows, muttering to herself in Spanish as she manipulated holographic readouts that sprang from her fingertips. When she turned her back, Lena caught a glimpse of yet more cybernetic enhancements running down the back of her neck and presumably linking up to the device attached to the back of her coat. Whoever she was, she certainly seemed to be an influential figure within Talon, and yet Lena did not recall ever seeing her mugshot or her name in the extensive databases kept by Overwatch.

Ever the resourceful field agent, Lena scanned the tent for weapons and possible escape routes. Her pulse pistols were presumably still folded away inside her gauntlets, which were dangling from their straps next to the chronal accelerator. Lena had also seen the butt of a submachine gun protruding from beneath Sombra's coat. Before she could consider arming herself, however, she would need to get herself free of the heavy metal frame to which she was strapped.

"The chronal accelerator. I would have given _anything_ to get my hands on this thing back in the day." The woman patted a bandolier of purple and black gadgets that was strapped to her coat. "It would have come in handy when I was designing these. Just going off the plans I stole from Overwatch took _months_."

"You stole it from Overwatch? How…and when? That device was top-secret." _Got to keep her talking._ With her captor's back turned, Lena went to work on the manacle around her right hand, using her slender fingers to loosen the clasps.

"What can I say? A girl just has to have the latest tech." Sombra chuckled as she ran a hand over the casing of the chronal accelerator. "Say, sometimes I feel a little sick when I use my translocator. I'm sure you know what I mean, _Tracer._ I guess I need to put in a little more work, once this is all over."

The purple holograms hovering around Sombra shifted, and Lena saw an image of her fingers manipulating the manacle flash across them. In an instant, Sombra whirled around and seized her right hand. A flash of purple light followed, and the restraints became painfully tight in response.

"Ahh…I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem…if you'd just disappear _forever._ "

"What kind of talk is that? We've only just met." Sombra lifted the chronal accelerator off the bench and carried it over to Lena. She considered it for a moment, then pressed it to the chest of its owner and began attaching the straps.

"You're just some hired gun. What kind of a pay rise did _he_ promise you?"

"Gabe, Gabe…he doesn't usually talk about payment like that. Must be a stressful mission, because I'm on a fixed contract with Talon." Sombra snorted. "Besides, I stopped caring about money a long time ago. Information is the only currency I deal in. Offering electronic money to a hacker like me… _no me importa._ " Sombra clipped on Lena's gauntlets, and rolled her eyes when the Overwatch agent attempted to deploy her pulse pistols. "Don't bother, I've disabled the gesture controls."

Lena ran her tongue over her dry lips, considering the situation. "I've got plenty of information. I don't know what kind you're after, but if you helped Emily and I get out of here…"

"Any other day…I might have agreed. Too bad that there's nothing you know that I don't already." Sombra's purple eyebrows knitted together as a thoughtful expression crossed her face. "A shame, really. We have more in common than you think, Lena Oxton. Two young women…both orphans, if you like, each a hero to their own world. You, me…maybe even that _pelirrojo_ of yours, hmm? What do you say? We'd make a pretty good team."

Lena rejected her offer with a barrage of insults that were enough to make the hacker giggle as she examined the core of the chronal accelerator. The blue light at the centre of the device flickered, then began to change colour, moving through dark blue to resemble Sombra's own shade of purple.

" _Que salado eres,_ ha ha! _"_ Sombra chuckled as she tightened the last of the straps. "But, Lena. I'll warn you – the next part of this operation won't be so funny."

Sombra seized the frame and spun it around, revealing to Lena what she had been working on behind her back. Illuminated by white strip lights, the rear portion of the tent was dominated by a pod, roughly double the height of the frame Lena was strapped to. Similar to the device she had glimpsed on the way into the camp, this pod was also connected to a number of computers and other machines by a network of wires and hoses, complete with theatrical puffs of white gas around the joints of the biggest pipes. The entire contraption was suspended only a few centimetres from the ground by a crane that protruded through the ceiling. Hanging as it was, Lena recalled seeing a similarly shaped object in Winston's lab in Gibraltar, dangling from the ceiling in his quarters. _Some kind of space capsule, maybe?_

"Not bad, hmm? Another Overwatch design. The white panelling gives it away. Not my choice of colour, you understand, but to be honest I didn't want to risk deviating from the original schematics. Too much other stuff could go wrong." Sombra kicked out the stoppers from under the wheeled frame Lena was strapped to, allowing her to drag her captive closer to the pod. As she did, the flaps of the tent to either side of her opened, and a handful of masked Talon operatives stepped in. "Like I said, you may not find the next part _particularly_ enjoyable…but it's all necessary for the operation to work, I'm afraid."

Lena snarled and rattled her restraints. "If torture is part of your plan, then bring it on. I've trained to resist it."

Sombra sighed. "Very well, Lena. Just remember that we needed to make the environment as _familiar_ for you as possible." Glowing rays of purple light shot from her gloves as Sombra interfaced with the pod, causing a hatch to spring open on the side. Lena only caught a glimpse of the interior of the pod – but it was enough to make her sharp wit dry up, and her blood run cold.

"Nothing personal, _amiga._ "


	5. Chapter 5

Blinking against the sudden light, Emily raised a hand to shield her eyes as the door to her cell swung open.

"Up you get, _cherie._ Wouldn't want to keep your girlfriend waiting."

Without waiting for a reply the woman the others called _Widowmaker_ hauled Emily to her feet one-handed, giving her a little shove that sent her stumbling into a cinderblock wall. She certainly _sounded_ human, but up close she seemed more like some kind of alien. When a blue hand brushed against Emily, the young woman couldn't help but shudder at the cold, and when she inhaled the air seemed heavy with a cloying perfume. A guard entered behind Widowmaker, and tossed an old blanket around Emily's shoulders, before dragging her from the cell and out into the freezing desert air. Emily had no idea what time it was, but judging by the faint pale glow on the horizon dawn was not far away.

There was renewed activity around the white pod at the centre of the pit. A second smaller pod had been lowered by a crane and attached to the top, and the men in red uniforms were disassembling parts of the scaffolding and removing many of the cables from the finished object. The leader of the operation, the man cloaked in black the others had called _Reaper,_ was standing alongside the Mexican woman she had seen when they arrived. Both were intently examining a bank of computer monitors, tucked away in a makeshift bunker made of plywood and sandbags that had been dug into the side of the pit. Ducking her head, Widowmaker entered the small space, dragging Emily behind her by the collar of her shirt.

"Where is she? Where is Lena?"

The woman in purple seized Emily's hand, and dropped a tiny silver earpiece into it. "Right here."

"Lena? Can you hear me? Are you alright, what's going on?"

There was a spluttering sound at the other end of the link, then a familiar voice cut through the static.

" _Emily! Ems, is that you, love? Are you alright?"_

Emily clapped her hand over the earpiece as the wind picked up. She tried to step back from the group, but Widowmaker kept a firm grip on her shoulder.

"I'm a bit shaken, but I'm fine. Where are you? What's going on?"

There was a pause, and when Lena spoke again, Emily could tell she was holding back tears.

" _I'm…I'm trapped, love. They've locked me in this thing."_ There was another burst of static, interspersed with what sounded like a sob. _"Not again…I can't do it again!"_

"Lena! Talk to me!"

" _Slipstream! A perfect replica…it's going to start up, and I'll be trapped, trapped forever…again!"_

As Lena started to sob again, Emily's hands were pulled behind her back as the woman in purple walked over to them. Emily snarled and attempted to wrench herself free as her girlfriend's anguish echoed through her mind.

"You…you sick freaks. Let her out of that thing!"

The Mexican woman put a finger to her ear. When she spoke, Emily could also hear her in the earpiece. "Enough, Lena. I thought you said you were _trained_ to resist stress like this. Get a grip!"

"… _you, Sombra! Let me out of here, or I'll…"_

Sombra chuckled. "Remember, the longer this part takes, the longer we'll have to keep you locked up in there."

The figure in black abruptly clapped a hand on Sombra's shoulder. "Don't forget to tell her what will happen to her girlfriend should she decide to be difficult with us."

Sombra turned away from the pod, and as she did, Emily thought she saw a brief flash of annoyance pass across her face. "Don't worry, Gabe. I gave her the little talk back in the tent."

Emily turned her gaze towards the pod, trying to see if there was a window or hatch that would let her catch a glimpse of Lena. "What even is this thing? What do you people want?"

Widowmaker sneered, and yanked roughly on Emily's collar, but Sombra flashed her a smile and pushed the assassin aside. "There's no need for that, _arana._ It's a good question. What you're looking at here, is a _time machine._ "

Emily gave a humourless laugh. "A _what?"_

"It's based on a machine Overwatch built a decade or so ago…for containing a certain agent who had a habit of _disappearing_. While Chief Scientist Winston worked on the chronal accelerator, the chamber was developed as a temporary measure. It generated a strong field, designed to pin the occupant down to a certain point in the timestream. Your lovely girlfriend is living proof that it worked, after all. But after the accelerator was finished…the tech went the way of the rest of Overwatch. That was, of course, until I happened across a file in the Gibraltar database. It looks like Winston toyed with the idea of combining the tech found in both machines at some point, to try to make a time machine. He never built one, but the idea seemed sound enough. Pair a capsule that can protect the people inside from from the effects of chronal disassociation with a device that allows someone to move through time…genius!"

Sombra waved a hand, and complicated blueprints for the pod scrolled past on a holographic window. "Not being much of a physicist myself, I contracted a few _friends_ who were a little more experienced in this stuff to get it built." She gestured towards the pod. "All in all, I think it turned out pretty well. At least, we won't know for sure until we start her up. As for where, and _when,_ this machine will be heading…"

"Is our _pilot_ familiar with the launch procedure?" barked Reaper, clearly growing impatient with Sombra's spiel.

"Of course, of course. I designed it based on the Slipstream's control scheme, so it should all be familiar to her. I will warn you though, Lena; there's a sweet spot. Too early, and the energy banks won't discharge enough to get you moving. Too late…" Sombra waved her gloved hands in an imitation of an explosion. "…and there won't be much of a future for you to look forward to."

Lena managed a sarcastic laugh. _"Knowing who my passengers will be,_ _I'm tempted_."

"I'm sure you are. Which is why your girlfriend will be accompanying us."

Sombra paused, her hands hovering over the controls. "…What did you say, Gabe?"

Reaper remained impassive. "You will remain here to oversee the launch. The capsule will contain myself, Widowmaker, our pilot, and the hostage."

" _Joder!"_ The cables that ran down the back of Sombra's coat flashed furiously as the woman rounded on Reaper. "We had a _deal,_ Gabriel! I put all this work in for you, and you think you can just push me aside when it's done?"

"You'll still receive your share of any material we recover. You're forgetting that we always needed someone to manage the launch site. This _civilian_ is vital for ensuring our ticket there and back cooperates with us."

For a moment, Sombra looked as though she would strike her superior with her raised hand. The threat was all the excuse Widowmaker seemed to need, as she stepped past Emily and shrugged her rifle from her shoulders. Sombra gave an exasperated sigh and turned away, muttering to herself in Spanish. Her gaze met Emily's, and she rolled her eyes.

"Sombra. Begin the sequence immediately. We have no time for negotiations."

The remark drew a sarcastic chuckle from Sombra as she returned to her computers. "Oh, believe me, _Gabriel_. I'm about to give you all the time in the world."


	6. Chapter 6

"Boom!" With a loud whoop, the young man sprang to his feet and pumped his fists in the air. "Haha, bet you didn't see _that one_ comin!"

"Huh. You are correct." On the other side of the table, his companion, a colossal man wearing a similar red uniform, scratched his bald head as he contemplated the board. After a few moments, he delicately picked up his queen between two sausage-like fingers and moved the piece into position directly opposite Scout's king. "Misha would never think of move like that…because it was _stupid._ "

"Wait, what!"

"Misha did not get his PHD for nothing." Heavy drained the last of the coffee he had been drinking and stood up from the table. "Besides, I have had enough."

"Yeah? What are you, scared of losing?"

" _Nyet,_ bored of winning." Heavy gestured towards the other side of the room. "Soldier will give you turn, if you ask nicely. Soldier?"

In response, a pile of what Scout had assumed to be rubbish stacked in the corner of the maintenance shed began to move, eventually disgorging a figure wearing a battered red coat and a cracked metal helmet. By the light of the single lightbulb overhead, Soldier looked wildly from Scout to Heavy, mouth agape as if he didn't quite remember who they were or where he was. Scout recognised the look; Soldier had just returned from another of his marathon 'patrols' of the area around the dam, where he walked for days without food and water in search of enemies who usually attacked the base during his absence. Nobody asked him to head out, but he did anyway, at least once a week.

"What…what? Games! I don't have time for games…you're supposed to be on watch, guarding the camp! Wake me at 17:00, and I'll take over. Back to your posts! Back…to…" No sooner had he sprung to attention, Soldier collapsed back into his nest of discarded blankets and raccoon leather, and was already snoring before the dust settled back on top of him.

"Jeez, forget it. Dumb game anyway." As he spoke, one of a dozen rotary telephones arranged on the desk next to him began to ring. Scout rolled his chair over and picked up the receiver.

"Hey-hey, Sniper. Havin fun up there? 'Cause we're havin a _great_ time down here. Ain't that right, fellas?"

" _Quit your jawing. You boys have company._ Scout listened as the Australian performed a quick count from his sentry position on the dam wall. _"Machines, looks like a raiding party. No more than fifty bots. They're trying to sneak in through the canyons...again."_

"Again? You sure?"

" _I can't see them at the moment, but I can bloody well hear them, noisy buggers."_

Scout sighed. "That's like the third time since we got here. Can't they go get some Australium someplace else?"

" _Chop-chop, mates. I'll let you know if I see anything else."_

The line went dead. Scout jumped up from his seat and moved over to the row of lockers mounted by the door. A sawn-off shotgun, a steel softball bat, and a can of energy drink went into his knapsack, while Heavy picked up his minigun and a belt of ammunition.

"Actually, does anyone else know where the hell this Australium is? It might make it easier to keep the Administrator's stuff safe if she actually told us where she's hidden it."

Heavy gave the barrels of his minigun an experimental spin. "Not important. If we protect every building, we don't have to know where it is to keep it safe."

The North Badlands hydro plant was a sprawling complex of workshops, warehouses, and plant equipment, covering both the rim of the dam wall and down below on the floodplain. A week spent jogging around in the heat, searching the empty buildings for small groups of robots wasn't exactly Scout's idea of fun, but the Administrator was being pretty generous payment-wise for this assignment. As usual, asking questions when _she_ was involved was a waste of time.

"Eh, seems fair." Scout adjusted his headset. "Did you open the door just now?"

"It was Soldier. He is already outside."

Weapons at the ready, the two mercenaries jogged out of the maintenance shed into the sweltering New Mexico desert. It was only midday, but the sun was already unbearably hot. On the edge of the industrial park was a large warehouse, and as Scout and Heavy drew near they could hear the sounds of battle. Soldier's point of entry was a large burnt section of panelling on the roof of the building, but Heavy and Scout decided to simply enter through the unlocked roller doors.

The first robot Scout saw was a spindly-looking thing built to resemble Sniper. It had just enough time to point and wave in his direction before Scout blew it apart with a well-placed shotgun blast. Two more appeared at the open doors on the other side of the warehouse, but before they could nock arrows to the bows they were holding, Heavy cut them down from afar.

Meanwhile, Soldier was holding off a dozen or more robots in a large pool of stagnant water that had formed in the centre of the floor. He had discarded his rocket launcher – and some of his clothes – and was grappling with the machines, cackling to himself as they scattered before him.

"Mwaahaha! You ladies call that a punch! _Huttah!_ " The head of a robotic Demoman bounced off the rafters. "Now _that's_ how a real American throws a punch!"

More bots appeared from outside, but many of them were weaponless, or armed with shovels and digging tools instead of guns. When his scattergun ran dry, Scout switched to his bat, charging into the crowd and laying out machines left and right. Within a few minutes, the last of the robots had been reduced to scrap, filling the air inside the warehouse with the smell of cordite and burnt circuitry. The mercs immediately set to work with their hands and tools, prising open the money furnaces that powered the bots in the hopes of saving some banknotes.

Scout tapped his headset. "Sniper? We've cleaned up the bots. Piece of cake, as usual. You want us to-"

"Oh, my God! My arms are glowing!"

Soldier was staring, slack-jawed, at his hands. For a moment, Scout thought he may have torn the stitching that kept them attached during the fight, but as he watched the entrenching tool he was holding began to shudder. Faint tendrils of blue electricity began to sparkle over the metal, spreading up Soldier's arm to form a crown of lightning on his helmet. Heavy gave a surprised grunt as his minigun began to crackle with electricity, and when Scout looked down at his scattergun he could see the St Elmo's fire beginning to race up the twin barrels.

"Huh…something is different."

"Aww, jeez! What is it, some kinda weapon?"

"Merasmus! Get out here so we can kick your spectral arse!"

The three mercs backed away from the edge of the pool as the lightning began to criss-cross the surface of the water. As the phenomenon began to gather strength, the bodies of the robots scattered around the warehouse began to shudder, slowly being pulled into the centre of the room by glowing tendrils of electricity. Scout shrank back against the wall as the intensifying lightning threatened to reach out and touch him.

Then, with a terrible crescendo of blue electricity that licked at the ceiling of the warehouse and made Scout's teeth rattle in his jaw – the room suddenly fell still. The turbulent pool became instantly calm, and the blue illumination faded away. For a moment, silence settled as the three mercs cautiously rose to their feet and dusted themselves off.

"Men! Report! How many wounded?"

Heavy gingerly touched the metal handle of his minigun. "I am unharmed, Soldier. Scout?"

"Whew. Guess it was nothing. I don't know what you two were so afraid of, but I'm not the kinda guy that gets fri-"


	7. Chapter 7

Silence. It was something Sombra didn't get a lot of anymore, and she relished the opportunity to finally clear her head. Endless hours of poring over technical documents and directing Talon goons had been taxing, even for her cybernetically enhanced mind. Now, alone in her tent at last, she could let out a sigh she'd been holding in for weeks, and turn her attention to other matters.

There was a baseball bat propped up against one of the computer mainframes that occupied most of the tent. Humming under her breath, the hacker picked it up and ran a critical eye across it. Stained and worn from years of use, the bat was one of Sombra's few permanent physical possessions. Under the light of the naked bulb hanging overhead, the shaft of the weapon glowed with the distinctive fluorescent paint used by the Los Muertos gang, a call back to when the weapon had first been given to her.

Sombra twirled the bat between her fingers, admiring the way it left a faint glowing trail through the air as it moved. Then, with a happy laugh, she seized it in a two-handed grip and drove it through the screen of the nearest computer.

For a few short minutes, the tent was lit by cascading sparks and flashes of purple and blue light, as the world's most notorious hacker darted between the banks of Talon-supplied equipment, leaving nothing undamaged. The bat punched holes through monitors, flexi-screens and mainframes alike, while the electromagnetic discharger affixed to her other hand pulsed intermittently, erasing memory drives and frying circuitry.

Then, silence returned. Panting, the hacker dropped the bat and collapsed onto a stool to catch her breath.

 _Silence…I could get used to this._ No more orders, beamed straight from the mysterious Talon Council straight into her implants, and no more directives from Reaper as he hovered at her shoulder. In a way, she knew she'd miss Gabriel and Widowmaker – but not as friends.

Deep down, Sombra still felt a twinge of disappointment. Widowmaker was a lost cause, as far as friendships went, but there had been something else about Gabriel Reyes that interested her. Beneath that mask and his intimidating persona, there was a complex and tortured individual that Sombra was keen to learn more about. Having exhausted the detail records kept by Overwatch, she had tried in vain to find more information in Talon's own archives, but all her investigation had turned up nothing she hadn't already known.

They'd left her a parting gift, or rather, Widowmaker had – Sombra could tell it was something she had made specially. The device was hidden in a sandbag inside her tent, and triggered with a time-delay mechanism that activated a few minutes after the pod launched. Sombra gave an amused chuckle as the detonator whirred loudly in her hands, trying vainly to activate the bomb which now lay in pieces on the workbench. _Gabe's little spider…I guess jealousy is the hardest emotion to remove._

There was more shouting outside the tent. Sombra resumed packing her things, tossing the most important pieces of tech into a backpack before downloading the rest via her neural attachments. Talon was breaking camp, and Sombra planned to slip away in the confusion. She'd got what she needed from them, and as long as the other parts of her plan fell into place, she would not cross paths with them again.

As she worked, her mind wandered back to the events of the day. The launch of the capsule had been a success, as far as they knew. There had been no explosions, no loud noises. The occupants of the capsule had simply thrown a switch and disappeared, vanishing from the current timeline instantaneously. For all the buildup, Sombra was expecting something a little more dramatic. Whether the occupants had survived their trip was not something they could easily find out, but at least there were no messy failures on the launchpad. Sombra's eye for technical detail could be thanked for that.

Her hand halfway into her backpack, the hacker suddenly froze. From the rear of the tent came the unmistakeable _snick_ of metal as someone cocked a gun.

"I can tell you're wearing an iron under that coat of yours. Toss it."

Sombra slowly reached under her coat and unclipped her shoulder holster, allowing her customised Sentinel submachine gun to drop to the ground. There was a faint shuffling sound behind her, and a hand emerged from the gloom by her feet, seizing the strap on the weapon and pulling it back out of her reach. Satisfied, Sombra's captor stepped out into the light.

"So. You're one of them. Huh." Beneath the shadow of a broad-brimmed hat, Jesse McCree shifted his ubiquitous cigar to the other side of his mouth. "You never mentioned Talon. You just said you were good with computers. I didn't pick you for a straight shooter, but this…"

"I didn't feel like spoiling the mood. It was Christmas Eve, after all."

Running into Jesse McCree in a bar in her hometown was certainly a happy accident. Sombra was the kind of person who preferred to plan ahead when gathering intel, but after she had gotten over her surprise, she joined the vigilante at the bar. He'd never heard of her before, of course, but she had, and with the help of a drink or two she had his tongue wagging.

"Mind telling me just what this little operation is all about? I never thought Talon had the brains to do more than the occasional robbery or hostage-taking."

"They still don't. _I'm_ the brains, and when they can afford my time, I help them pull off their bigger jobs."

"Like what?"

"Top secret, I'm afraid." Sombra grinned, allowing her arms to slowly drop to her sides as her captor moved closer. "What brings you this far out? We're miles from the nearest saloon, cowboy _."_

The barrel of his revolver sparkled in the light as McCree spun it skilfully between his fingers. "I have my reasons. Matter of fact, some old friends called in a favour from me. Do you happen to know of a woman named Lena Oxton? You see, these people were pretty certain she'd passed through here a few hours ago."

"Lena Oxton? Now that you mention it…yeah, I've seen her. She didn't stay long, must've been a little short on time."

The irony was lost on McCree as he paced back and forth in front of her, spurs jangling. He frowned in confusion as he gazed at the smoking remains of the computer equipment scattered around the tent, and examined her baseball bat where it lay on the sandy floor at his feet. The innocent confusion on his face almost made Sombra want to chuckle.

Briefly, both of them were distracted by a flurry of activity outside. Shadows flashed against the fabric walls of the tent, and a long burst of gunfire echoed out from the other side of the camp.

"Sounds like you brought company, _vaquero_." Reaching down, she grabbed one of the straps of her backpack and began to edge towards the door. "So if you don't mind…"

Sombra had only made it a few steps before McCree reacted. His robotic arm shot out, seizing her by the collar and pushing her back against the nearest support pole of the tent. Her hands scrabbled against the hard metal shell of his prosthetic, but found no purchase.

"I didn't come here to play games with you. Tell me where she is!"

Mcree's prosthetic suddenly glowed purple under her fingertips. Realisation flashed in his eyes a second too late. The revolver snapped up, but before McCree could get a shot off, he slugged himself across the mouth with his own prosthetic arm. The robotic hand clamped around his throat and drove him down to the sandy floor of the tent, gasping for air.

"Like I said; Everything can be hacked – and anyone." Sombra picked up her submachine gun and holstered it beneath her coat. " _Adios,_ McCree. Another time, perhaps?"

McCree said nothing, his face slowly turning from mauve to a shade of deep purple. Sombra flexed her fingers, and the rogue arm relaxed slightly.

His good arm suddenly whipped out, and the world exploded in a thunderclap of light and sound as a stun grenade burst centimetres from her head. Sensors overloaded, Sombra staggered back, the submachine gun falling from her grip. She had just enough presence of mind to rake her hand across her bodysuit, activating her thermoptic camouflage, before the first slug from McCree's revolver tore through the space she had occupied just moments before. She executed an acrobatic roll that took her out of McCree's reach, then sprinted out of the flap of the tent, and out into the cool night air.

Sombra had only taken a few steps before a figure emerged from the tent behind her, gun raised. She turned to run, but was brought up short when she crashed headlong into someone running the other way. The impact was enough to disrupt her suit's camouflage, and as it dissipated, she saw a gloved fist flying through the air towards her face.

* * *

An hour later, the Overwatch transport shuttle _Guardian_ was climbing to its cruising altitude of 40,000 feet, high above the New Mexico desert. With Athena at the controls, the jet emerged from between the clouds and began to follow a meandering pattern across the American mainland, avoiding main population centres and military facilities. It was possible to fly higher and faster, but in order to keep up the pretence that they were a civilian cargo plane it was necessary to blend in with the hundreds of other aircraft that passed by in their local airspace. The spacious interior of the jet was lit only by a few faint emergency lights. In the pre-dawn darkness, the passengers could try to catch up on some sleep.

Winston looked up from the piece of Talon hardware he was partway through disassembling and looked around the cabin. Ana and Jack were having a muttered conversation in the cockpit, presumably discussing what their next move would be. McCree was sprawled across the top of several packing crates, his hat pulled down over his eyes. He may have been asleep, although Winston never had been able to tell.

McCree's reaction to seeing his two former commanders alive had been mixed, to say the least. After a brief moment of shock, which amounted to little more than a raised eyebrow from the vigilante, he gave Ana a stiff hug. He then offered his hand to Jack, who took it, after a moment's hesitation – and that was the end of the encounter. Just a few weeks ago, Winston had only known of a handful of former agents who were still active in the post-Overwatch world, and now there were four of the best aboard the ship.

There was, of course, one major exception. After spending two hours sweeping the campsite and interrogating Talon operatives, they were unable to find any sign of Lena or Emily. The tracking device in the chronal accelerator had dropped offline a few minutes before they had arrived, but if the harness had been destroyed Winston could find no trace of it. Eventually, and with the threat of Talon returning in force to take back the camp, Overwatch was forced to retreat almost empty handed.

 _Almost…_

There was one other newcomer onboard the _Guardian,_ someone that McCree had brought aboard himself. A woman, dressed in an outlandish purple and black outfit and sporting an equally distinctive haircut. She was strapped into one of the jump seats mounted to the far wall of the shuttle. Seeing Winston looking at her, she gave him a grin, apparently ignorant of the swelling on her lips and the dark area around her eye that was more than just makeup. When she shifted in her seat, purple cabling on her suit flashed in the gloom.

"So, you must be Chief Scientist Winston." She spoke with a Mexican accent, with a playful note that matched her smile. "I've got to say, you're a bit of a childhood icon of mine."

Winston frowned. "I don't recall…

"The leaps you made in remote interfacing…and thermoptic camouflage!" The woman chuckled. "Your work gave me a big break when I was starting out. And you were nice enough to store it right where I could reach it!"

"She's trying to get a rise out of you, Winston."

Jack Morrison descended the stairs from the cockpit area and walked over to where McCree was reclining, apparently asleep, with his hat pulled down over his eyes. He nudged him awake, and pointed at the prisoner.

"You know this woman?"

"We've met before…at a bar. We had a drink, talked a little…but I haven't seen her since then." McCree shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, I think we did more than that, _Jesse._ I've got a few pictures here that might jog your memory." A series of holographic video windows materialised in the air around her head, with accompanying sound issuing forth from some hidden speaker. "Hmmm. Sure looks like a whole lot of nothing to me."

Jack gestured, and a harsh spotlight snapped on over the prisoner's head, cutting off the video windows. She blinked at the sudden light, and as she did the former Strike Commander moved in swiftly and struck her, backhanded, with a blow that rang out in the confines of the jet.

"You're not in a position to play games with us. I was just about ready to leave you for dead and clear out before I was convinced otherwise. The others say you might be useful, Sombra, so you'd better start giving me some answers." Jack drew closer. With one gloved hand, he roughly pushed Sombra's head to one side, examining the web of cybernetic implants on her scalp. "I've heard your name before. In Egypt. You were working for Talon back then, too."

Sombra jerked away, still smirking despite the blow. "I might have been. My work takes me all over."

"You still haven't answered my question from earlier. What has Talon done with Tracer and her partner? Are they still in danger?"

" _Aye!_ I told you earlier, _Jack._ It's complicated. You'll probably need your Chief Scientist to help you understand it. Believe me, time is no longer a factor in their safety."

Jack cocked his hand back menacingly, but Ana caught it, giving him a stern look.

"We'll be continuing this discussion back at base." Jack turned back to Winston. "What's our flight time to Gibraltar?"

The scientist adjusted his glasses as he pulled up a holographic display. "The _Guardian_ lacks the fuel needed to make it back to Gibraltar in a single hop. According to the satellite uplink, the refuelling platform at the old Grand Mesa Watchpoint is still operational, and I recommend that we land there to resupply. With any luck, we'll only be on the ground for an hour or so."


	8. Chapter 8

When Sniper came to, his first thoughts were of his hat. Blinking furiously, he sat up and pulled himself upright with the assistance of a chair. _Falling asleep on watch again…damn, I'm getting sloppy._ Then he saw the huge column of smoke rising in front of him, and everything came rushing back.

"Scout? You there?" The connection was dead. "Heavy? Soldier? What's your status?" Resting his rifle on the low wall that ran around the edge of the dam, Sniper peered into the scope, trying to catch a glimpse of the floodplain below through the cloud of smoke.

The radio made a crackling sound. Looking away from his scope, Sniper bent down and fiddled with the dials until he picked up a familiar, French-accented voice.

" _Sniper! What is going on out there?"_

"Buggered if I know. The other three were checking out a bot incursion, then…" He broke off, staring through his scope again.

" _Well?"_ There was a slight hissing sound as the microphone picked up the cloud of cigarette smoke that permanently shrouded Spy's head. _"We haven't got all day."_

The wind picked up, and the smoke began to clear. As it did, Sniper caught his first glimpses of the devastation that lay below. _Crikey!_ "I'm looking at a bunch of demolished buildings, fellas. Everything from the edge of the slipway to the entrance to the canyon is busted up. As for what caused it…"

The object was roughly the size of a grain silo, and shaped like a teardrop. It had come to rest with the fat end embedded firmly in the foundations of the warehouse and the thin top pointing straight up. The whole object seemed to give off a strange glow, and Sniper noticed that some of the haze was coming from a pool of water being boiled away at the base of the warehouse.

"…The bloody thing's red hot! Must've fallen out of space."

" _Can you describe this 'bloody thing'? It seems to have destroyed nearly every security camera we had down there."_

"It's big, made of metal, and it was moving fast. Shaped like a big…spinning top, I reckon. Didn't even see it hit the ground, it just appeared."

" _Could it be Grey Mann's doing?"_ Sniper picked up the sounds of a few other mercenaries wondering aloud. _"A weapon of some kind, perhaps."_

"Could be. I did see some bots earlier, but they're gone now. Bloody thing landed right on top of them."

" _What about the others? Scout, Heavy, Soldier… can you see where they are?"_

Sniper shook his head as he panned the scope of his rifle across the ruined warehouse. "They were in there, fighting the bots when the thing came down. Nothing on the radio since then."

" _Dead?"_

Before he could answer, he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision. Sniper instinctively ducked down behind the lip of the dam, hugging his rifle to his chest.

" _Sniper!"_

"Sit tight. Something's happening down there." Replacing the radio receiver, Sniper unfastened the clamps that held his telescopic scope to the top of his rifle. Then, as slowly and as smoothly as he could, he rose up until he was level with the lip of the wall to train his telescope on the pod.

The smoke had almost completely cleared, revealing every aspect of the mysterious object. The banging sound intensified, and by adjusting the zoom on the scope Sniper could see that a circular panel was vibrating at the top of the pod. _An escape hatch? Maybe the crew survived._

His answer came a few seconds later. With one final bang, some sort of explosive detonated behind the panel, blowing it clear of the pod and onto the ground below. The explosion revealed an open hatch, and as the dust clouds billowed around it, a crewmember of the pod appeared. The first to emerge was something that looked like a man wrapped in a hooded cloak. He jumped down from the open hatch and landed heavily, trailing black smoke, although if he was on fire he didn't seem to notice. The figure gestured towards the pod, and a few seconds later someone else came out. They hesitated at the door of the pod, but someone else who was still inside kicked them out onto the sandy ground. The face of a young woman, cut and bloodied, appeared in Sniper's scope.

 _One man…one woman…and what the hell is that?_

It was certainly _shaped_ like a woman, with a skin-tight outfit that left little to the imagination. Yet the skin that showed underneath reminded Sniper of a drowned corpse, an ugly bruised purple that gave her an otherworldly appearance. She was carrying a rifle of some kind as well, a sleek compact design that matched the colour of her outfit. Unlike the others, she made the jump from the hatch to the ground look easy, landing with a graceful roll on the sandy ground. Rousing the other woman to her feet with a swift kick, she joined the man in the cloak in a whispered conversation.

Gently, Sniper lowered himself back down behind the dam wall, and reached for the radio. At the same time, he moved to reattach his scope to his rifle.

"I've got eyes on three targets. One woman…and I've got no clue what the other two are. They're armed, so I doubt they've come in peace." The bolt of his rifle slid shut with a satisfying click. "Any objections to having me as the welcoming party, mates?"

There was a muttered conversation on the other end of the line, then the team's Medic spoke up, albeit uncomfortably close to the microphone.

" _You're quite sure the others are dead, Sniper? I will be needing extra space in the infirmary if that is not the case, as my other projects are occupying the beds at the moment."_

"I don't know where the others are, Doc." Sniper settled his rifle into the crook of his arm. "But I know I'm about to bag myself a couple of bona fide aliens."

* * *

" _Bravo,_ Sombra. I guess you were useful for something after all."

" **She performed as expected. We have arrived at the correct date…although several hundred metres from the predicted landing point. It's close enough not to matter."**

"What about our pilot?"

" **She can stay right where she is."** Reaper scanned the surrounding buildings, his hands hovering over the stocks of his Hellfire shotguns. **"That pod has enough supplies to keep her alive for days, and she won't try to escape if we still have our hostage."**

Emily rose to her feet, clutching Widowmaker's arm for balance as she struggled to stay upright. The assassin gave an exasperated sigh as she hooked her free arm under the woman to prevent her from touching the red-hot time machine. "We had better find somewhere to hide this one. I don't feel like carrying her around much longer."

Reaper drew in a rattling breath as if he was about to answer – before something came whizzing through the air overhead to strike his mask in a shower of sparks. The impact sent him reeling, and his entire body seemed to ripple and briefly lose cohesion. An instant later, the distant boom of a shot echoed out, amplified by the sloping wall of the dam.

Before the sound had died away, Widowmaker had brought her rifle up and was returning fire. Even in a full sprint, she was able to fire off five rounds in quick succession that all landed in a tight group on the top of the dam wall. Her motions were unnaturally swift for a human, the product of endless hours of training and mental conditioning. Within seconds of the ambush being sprung, their unseen attacker was either dead or taking cover as Widowmaker emptied her rifle at their last known position, then threw Emily over her shoulder and dashed behind the pod.

"Gabriel! I trust you are not hurt!"

Reaper had vanished, but his voice was still audible in Emily and Widowmaker's earpieces. **"Give me a minute. It looks like you've got company back there."**

Widowmaker switched her rifle into close-quarters configuration. "How many?"

" **Remember what the dossier said? No more than nine."**

* * *

 _ **Short chapter this time, but the two teams are finally going to meet in earnest! Be sure to let me know what you think so far, and thanks for reading.**_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Apologies for the lack of updates, I've been busy with life and two other ongoing stories (check my profile if you like Star Wars!) Since I wrote for this story, I feel my writing style and my understanding of the everchanging canon storyline of Overwatch has changed. Going forward, I will be making quite a few edits to previous chapters to bring them up to scratch and weave in new information.**

* * *

Lena Oxton awoke with a start.

She was blind. Her arms and legs were bound tightly to her sides. Above her, something was pounding rhythmically, the dull clatter of metal on metal synchronising with her own laboured breathing. Yet despite her blindness, the former Overwatch Agent knew exactly where she was.

 _The Slipstream._ The accident that had left her permanently injured was seared into her memory. Every jump, every shift through time, from the ones that had happened in an instant to the frozen moments that had lasted for months, were recalled the instant her hands felt the controls of the prototype fighter. As memories of the past flowed back, Lena Oxton fought to control her rising panic, but the claustrophobic space did little to help.

Worse still, it was hot. The small porthole windows above her head were completely fogged up by the heat. Her head was still spinning. She concentrated, trying to recall what had just taken place, but exhaustion was sapping her strength.

The pounding was getting louder. Despite the opacity of the glass, Lena caught a glimpse of a tool of some kind scraping across the porthole. Someone was trying to get into the pod – whether they were a friend or a foe, she couldn't tell. Soaked in sweat and struggling to breath in the hot, cramped pod, Lena Oxton was past the point of caring, as long as she could get out.

A minute of scratching later, and the metal above her head began to vibrate. Then, sliding back on hidden rollers, the roof of the pod collapsed on itself, momentarily blinding Lena as sunlight blasted in.

"We got a live one in here!"

Lena felt something heavy scraping across her shoulders. Then her restraints began to loosen, and before she could protest, a pair of hands had seized her and yanked her out of the seat. The former Overwatch agent was roughly dragged across a hot metal surface before being dumped in a heap on what felt like a pile of sand.

Lena sat kneeled on the ground, shielding her eyes with the sleeve of her suit. Around her, the people that had pulled her out held a quiet conversation.

"Any sign of the other three?"

"Looks clear to me. My guess is they went back through the canyons, following the route the bots always take." The man lowered his rifle with a frustrated growl. "I just _know_ I hit that bugger! The scope was dead on, the windage was good…I even saw him fall over, and no-one's ever gotten up after I've dealt with 'em."

Lena felt a pair of arms loop underneath her own, before she was hauled back to her feet. With her eyes now better adjusted to the glare, she was able to get a good look at her captors.

Three men were standing around the base of the pod. The first was a fair skinned-man wearing a lab coat and heavy rubber gloves, who stared at Lena over a pair of wire-framed spectacles. The second, a man with a scoped rifle, wore a wide-brimmed hat and glasses, and was angrily kicking several metal objects that were scattered at his feet. The last was wearing an unusual combination of a three-buttoned suit, gloves and a balaclava, leaving little of his skin showing. A lit cigarette glowed in the corner of his mouth, and he fiddled with a silver case as he approached. Lena tried to turn to see who was holding her but could only see a pair of dark-skinned forearms that were crossed over her chest.

The acrid scent of cigarette smoke entered her nostrils. Smoking was an archaic practice, a dangerous hobby that had died out decades ago, but the man who was currently sizing her up seemed unconcerned about the health risks as he took another drag.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" The man spoke English, albeit with a French accent that made Lena somewhat uncomfortable.

The man with the rifle pushed past him, and suddenly a knife was being waved in her face. "Just give the word, Spy. I could gut 'em now, or we could bring him back to base for a friendly little chat."

Lena winced as the man they called Spy leaned in close, seizing her chin and examining her face. He studied her for a few moments, then let go, apparently satisfied.

"Hmm _._ We have in fact captured someone of the female persuasion."

The sniper scratched his head. "How can you tell under all that junk?"

"I happen to have an eye for such things." Spy flicked his cigarette away, a new one appearing between his fingers as if by magic. "Do you have a name, _mademoiselle_?"

Lena hesitated. She was alone, in an unknown environment, and now in the custody of a number of potential armed hostiles. _Beats being dragged around by Talon,_ she thought, but she decided that it would be best to stick with the standard procedure for now. Lena straightened up and fixed her captor with a confident glare, even as the kukri scratched against the collar of her flight suit.

"Agent Oxton. 377-901-228."

"Name, rank and serial number? There is no need to be so serious, _madame._ " Spy indicated the motley crew that were gathered around the pod. "Though we try to maintain a professional appearance, we are after all just humble mercenaries."

 _Humble? You've got that right._ The men holding her captive hardly seemed like a proper mercenary outfit. They wore no standard uniforms, just a strange mish-mash of military and civilian clothing, and their weapons were crude and antiquated. Apart from the colour red, which they all seemed to sport on at least one part of their clothing, no two were dressed or equipped alike.

Spy twirled his fingers, and the unseen person holding Lena spun her around to face the pod. Since launch, she had not seen the full size of the device, but she had hardly expected it to be much bigger than the pilot capsule she had been trapped inside. Aghast, Lena stared up at the huge bulk of the pod, which was lying on its side in the ruins of a large building. It was easily thirty or so metres long, with a flared base, and the fuselage tapered to a point at the far end, where she had been sitting.

"And what of my colleagues, Agent Oxton? Just following orders?" Spy gestured to one of the mercenaries, who was emerging from the rubble dragging something behind him. "Running over suspects with your vehicle hardly seems like due process."

Just a brief glimpse of the three bodies was enough to make her already weak stomach churn. Crushed and burned beneath the pod, they were hardly recognisable as people until they had been dragged out into the sunlight. Two men, skin and clothes singed off, as well as the body of what looked like a child. Lena was secretly glad of the arms that prevented her already wobbly legs from giving way under her. The Agent's shock was beginning to be replaced by fear, as she noted the murderous expressions on the faces of some of the men around her.

The remaining mercenaries gathered around the bodies. The suited Frenchman poked them with his foot, then turned to the one wearing the doctor's uniform.

"Well?"

The Medic lifted one sleeve of his jacket, examining his watch. "Let's see. Time of death…we'll say an hour ago, just to be sure. This could be more challenging than I thought."

Spy tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the nearest corpse. "I seem to recall a situation like this in Rottenburg."

"Yes, but I was on hand immediately." The Medic took the hand of one of the bodies in his own, and let it fall with a disappointed sigh. "The damage was also less…extensive."

"Whew! Got your Reanimators here, Doc!" The man wearing the hard hat emerged from the ruins, with three rectangular objects in his hands. He dumped them on the ground next to the corpses and stepped back, slapping soot off his overalls with his gloved hand. "Let's just hope they survived."

"Indeed. Stand back, everyone. This may get a little…messy."

The Medic reached behind his back and unwound a contraption which resembled a firehose that was connected to his backpack by a flexible tube. As he did, the devices on the ground hummed into life, each displaying a red hologram of a person. Medic muttered something to himself, then pumped the handle on his backpack. A glowing beam of red light appeared, moving in an oddly fluid-like fashion as it reached out to touch the first corpse.

Then, with a sickening squelching sound, the head of the largest corpse began to move. Caught in the glowing red beam, it came free of the burnt torso and drifted up into the air towards the hologram. The rest of the body parts soon followed suit, and as they neared the outline, they began to change. Blackened skin sloughed off in great clouds, leaving behind smooth and undamaged flesh and even clothing. Within seconds, the reassembled body parts had been transformed from an unrecognisable cadaver, to a fully formed and healed human.

The owner of the arms that were currently restraining her spoke up. "Aye, I'd look away if I were you, girlie. That's not the sort of thing you want to watch sober…"

* * *

With a small sigh, the woman from the capsule went limp in Demoman's arms, the colour completely drained from her face. Spy watched as the Scotsman gently lowered her to the ground.

"Ach, I tried to warn her. Out like a light, she is."

"YAAAAGH…oh…thank you, Doctor!" Stepping off the Reanimator, Heavy took a deep breath, feeling his body for any sign of injury. Satisfied, he pounded his fists together. "Misha is ready to fight again!"

"Take that, you hunk of mechanical trash! _Ha!"_ Heavy's celebration was interrupted when a freshly Reanimated Soldier leaped off his device and wrapped his hands around the Russian's throat. "I…wait a minute!"

Scout emerged from the Reanimator with a high-pitched scream, only to catch himself when he noticed the rest of the mercenaries. "AAAAAhhhhey-hey fellas, what's up?"

Medic clapped his hands together. "Excellent! The system worked exactly as planned. I appreciate your input on the design of the Reanimator capsules, Herr Conhager. They survived a good deal of punishment."

"Happy to help, Doc." Engineer tipped his hard hat to Medic. "Any time you need a device built, you know who to talk to. So, what's our next move boys?"

Spy didn't answer. He was standing over the intruder, examining a tag printed onto her flight suit. It was gibberish, for the most part, and her ID card seemed to imply that she wouldn't be born for at least another fifty years. An elaborate ruse, perhaps, or maybe there was something more unusual afoot. After all, the Administrator had warned them that there were many groups who would be interested in getting their hands on the Australium in the facility. The woman was alive and in good condition – Spy had a number of tools on hand that would help him get to the bottom of this.

"Sniper. Take this Oxton woman to the holding tank. The rest of you – return to the control centre, and…" Spy broke off, covering his eyes with his hand. "…and would someone please find Soldier a fresh uniform!"


End file.
